The Kiosk Chronicles

A day in the life of an average UK high street kiosk.

Photo by Ev on Unsplash

I quit my job last year to open a cake kiosk. If I’m honest I didn’t give it a massive amount of thought, I just needed to get out of what I was doing and the kiosk was close and seemed pretty low risk.

Since opening last summer I would estimate I have had 2 or 3 autistic meltdowns a week, which is an all time record for me, although they have slowed down slightly of late. While I enjoy my job, it is not the easiest thing for an AuDHD perimenopausal woman in their 40s to attempt with no previous experience and it is fucking hard work.

Every day that I am open I wake up at 5am to hand bake the cakes and pastries for the day, only to sit for hours sometimes not selling anything. That’s a lie, I always sell something. There has only been one day since I opened where I sold nothing at all and that was when I opened during a yellow weather warning. It is humbling to go from earning £300 a day to £300 a week (if I’m lucky), but it gets me outside and interacting with people.

Previously I worked solely online and found it lonely and isolating. It has been nice doing something that contributes towards the local community and I’ve been surprised by how quickly everyone has adopted my kiosk into their daily routine. Since I opened I have gotten to know lots of new people and many regular faces. Because the kiosk opens straight onto the main road, it can be a bit of an oddball magnet and I still have to learn how to stem the people who turn up and want to talk for hours about light switches or their love life, but I don’t really mind talking as long as they buy something.

I see my kiosk as a little window onto the life of an average run down UK high street. This end of town is the rough part and is overrun with what I would call “street dwellers” as the majority are not homeless, but alcoholics and drug addicts who like to hang out in the street. They remind me of the gangs of teenagers I hung out with in my youth, troublemakers with nowhere to go, shouting and drinking on benches, puking and groaning and grunting.

I would estimate there are 30 or 40 street dwellers who hang out around my end of the high street regularly. Over the past 6 months I’ve gotten to know a lot of them either through chatting or observing. In my head I’ve given them all nicknames.

Let me introduce…

Happy/Sad Michael - an elderly longterm alcoholic who can either be the happiest or the angriest man in the world, depending on if he has had his medication. Always tells people I make “the best cakes in the world” when he walks by - that’s how I know he’s Happy Michael.

Noisy Nigel - an old school raver who shouts a lot and espouses peace and love, broke his ankle in a “glow stick incident” and is now a drug addict. Can get a bit unpredictable and handsy, is one of the ones I have to be careful of.

Ponytail Man - always carries a 2 litre bottle of Caffeine Free Coke which he pukes up at random, and appears at the kiosk whispering Britney Spears lyrics while being generally very terrifying.

Kieran - a youngish lad who claims he is homeless “by choice” but has a history of mental health problems. Loves Exe coffee and is allergic to cinnamon. Wants to be a chef.

Bareback Carpark Meets - is a bit of a sad one, I’ve never spoken to her but I once saw her on Adultwork selling “bareback carpark meets” in the Wilko carpark when she looked underage. She’s in her early 20’s now and a hardcore junkie who overdoses on the high street quite regularly. Everyone is very concerned about her.

To all of them the high street is their social spot, their place to catch up over a Tennants and a pinch of spice, maybe some brown if they are feeling flush - which I see them do in the alley opposite the kiosk, or sometimes on the steps outside the bank.

Unless they are stood outside my kiosk shouting FUCK OFF at each other all day (which happens) I don’t have a problem with them, they existed here before I had the kiosk and their presence was something I anticipated before I opened. I help them out where I can and there’s only a couple that make me feel unsafe - the rest are quite friendly and will say hello. A lot of them buy my cakes! Which was a pleasant surprise and something I didn’t anticipate. They are all very complimentary about my cakes and honestly their kind words make my day sometimes.

I’m probably weird in that I don’t see drug addiction as a personal failing, I see it as a failing of society as a whole. Where I grew up was rough and my main takeaway from it is that even the scariest people are looking for a friendly face. Sometimes people get dealt shit cards and we can never know what another person is truly going through. A scary exterior is often just a defence mechanism, and from my vantage point I can see that a lot of these people are just massively struggling with their mental health and doing whatever they can to cope.

The fact that all of our towns have so many people who struggle with drugs is a huge indication that our current society is failing. These are the people who fall through the cracks when mental health funding is cut. They are the ones with no safety net and the reason I am kind is because I know that we are not so different, I’m just lucky to have more of a support system.

People love to slag off the top of town, especially online, but not many people spend that much time here. I’ve actually met some really nice people working here and there are so many people actively trying to make this area better. I like my little window and I like the people it looks out on, so far they have all been very kind.

Sim x